


Never Again

by justjoy



Series: In The Shoes Of Hitsugaya [7]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate History, First Meetings, Gen, In which Hitsugaya is used to the cold, Not!Humour/Crack and I mean it, One Shot, Rukongai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoy/pseuds/justjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hitsugaya Toushirou: taichou of the 10th Division, youngest shinigami to achieve bankai, embodiment of a heavenly guardian. But what happens when he deals with real life? A couple of oneshots detailing the everyday life of everyone's favourite child prodigy.</p><p>[snapshot, seven: In which the more things change, the more they stay the same.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not be AU, but probably is anyway given what we do know of the timeline.

Ash grey eyes looked, unseeing, up at the wide sky.

_Someone…_

The sun beat down unforgivingly, a bright dot reflected in her clouded eyes.

_Anyone…_

A cloud floated by and obscured the sun, giving her a blessed moment of respite from the heat.

_Please…_

Her eyelids fluttered closed.

_...help me._

Then there was inky black darkness, and she knew no more. 

* * *

The next thing she knew was the coolness of something – _water?_ – against her skin.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking as the blurry shapes of her surroundings came into focus. Nothing much had changed, except that it was now closer to dusk, and the sun’s rays did not beat down as strongly as they had, something she was thankful for.

She tried in vain to get up, a gasp of pain escaping her lips at the pain caused by the movement.

A cool hand touched her own, stopping her. “You’re injured and dehydrated. Don’t move for now.”

Surprise flitted across her expression – she had barely noticed that there was someone else with her, exhausted as she was. “Who – “ her voice was a hoarse whisper when she spoke. “Who are you?”

There was the slightest rustle of cloth, and the figure of a small boy came into view, his back to her as he tended to a wound on her arm. She watched, almost mesmerised, as he carefully removed a splinter from the cut, wondering at the practiced, near-clinical movement of his hands.

Most children her age would have been squeamish, if not outright terrified, at the sight of blood. But he was perfectly calm and precise, almost disturbingly so.

_Why?_

Yet she didn’t dare to ask him; and it suddenly occurred to her that he hadn’t answered her just now. She repeated herself, her voice stronger, more certain this time.

“Who are you?”

She had to admit some surprise when he paused in his actions and turned to look at her, his face impassive. Somehow, she had the feeling that, had their circumstances been even slightly different, he could very well have ignored her completely.

He hadn’t; _why_?

From this distance, it was clear that was much younger than he had first appeared, probably even younger than herself – but somehow, it didn’t seem so, nearly as if there was something of his childhood that he had lost, and it made her feel like a young, ignorant child next to him.

Somehow, she thought she had the answers to her questions, but they danced, just out of her reach…

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“You don’t need to know who I am,” he said finally, tearing his gaze away from her own and turning back to continue cleaning her wound.

It was then that she realised that he was gripping a small chunk of ice tightly in his hand, using the water that dripped from it to clean her wounds – _that_ had been what she’d felt when she woke up.

She frowned, a thought coming slowly to her through the fog of her mind. “Isn’t your hand cold?” she asked softly, gesturing to his hand, already starting to pale at the fingertips.

The young boy looked up, as if surprised by her question. Then he shook his head slightly, slowly. “I’m used to it.”

His work finished, he helped her to sit up and gave her some water in a chipped teacup. She accepted it gratefully.

He stood to leave, and she wanted nothing more to stop him, but somehow, she knew she couldn’t do that, no matter how she tried.

Still, she called out to him. “Thank you.”

He had turned slightly when she spoke, so that she could barely make out his face against the setting sun, waiting for her to continue.

“I – I’m Rangiku.” She smiled tentatively, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Nice to meet you.”

He looked at her for some time, then turned away again; and she was almost certain that he was going to leave without replying –

“Hitsugaya Toshiro. And you’re welcome.”

Then he was gone in a blink, and she was left with nothing but a memory of a white-haired boy with green eyes, with a touch cold as ice and a heart warmer than the blazing sun.

* * *

She never could be absolutely certain whether the incident had truly happened, or was just a distant dream – not until a long, long time after…

* * *

She met those familiar green eyes yet again, and wondered how she could ever have doubted.

“Matsumoto Rangiku, fukutaicho of the 10th division. Welcome to our division, I look forward to working under you, Hitsugaya-taicho!”

A shared glance of recognition, of confirmation, where no words were needed at all.

He nodded, reaching out to shake her hand. “Thank you, Matsumoto-fukutaicho." 

Matsumoto smiled; it might have been fate, or just pure chance – but there was one thing for sure.

She was never going to doubt him again.


End file.
